


sacrifice/amends

by propheticfire



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Amputation, Body Horror, Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilt, Loss, Redemption, could be shippy if you squint, kind of, virrow-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Viren finally makes the ultimate sacrifice for Harrow. Harrow realizes he needs to at least try to return the favor.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	sacrifice/amends

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a crack idea in my head. Kind of a "lol what if Viren and Harrow knew each other's bodies well enough *wink wink nudge nudge* to be able to remake them with magic". But it instantly turned into a more serious piece. Didn't help that I was listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJCbSW-_IE8) on repeat as I wrote. I handwove the timeline and also the rest of the plot threads going on around them in canon, so just roll with it.

Viren’s body shakes. He only has one chance to get this right.

He looks at the bird perched on his wrist. He never thought he’d see it again. But now he’s found it—or rather, it’s found him, by some miracle. He knows what he needs is still trapped inside. He knows it will take all he has, _everything_ he has, everything he _is,_ to get it out. He knows the words to speak.

He doesn’t know if he has the strength to speak them.

He _has_ to have the strength.

He has to get this right.

To _make_ it right.

He closes his eyes. In his mind, he can picture it so clearly. Picture _him_.

“I’m the only one alive who knows you well enough to do this,” he whispers. “Please let it be enough.”

He begins to speak the spell.

It tears into his arm like fire. White hot, ripping, burning. But he can’t stop. No matter what, he can’t stop. He pushes on.

Up his arm, into his chest, radiating through him. It rends him to his bones, to his very sinews. The pain is excruciating. Harrowing. It consumes him entirely, until he’s nothing but a singularity of infinite agony. Still, he speaks the spell. Screams it, with all the breath he has left in his body. Distantly, he can feel the bird flapping, but they’re locked together now, for better or for worse, whatever the outcome.

The white hot haze washes over his mind, blinding even his inner vision. Brighter a hundred times over than the Lux Aurea primal stone. Burning him away. He clings to the last desperate image he _can_ see, of warm brown skin, of a smile like the sun, and pours the rest of himself into it.

Then the whiteness overtakes him, and he dissolves into it, smaller, smaller, smaller, until….

Peace.

Everything feels…strange. Disorienting. His arms feel too heavy. His vision is blurred. His throat is raw. Unfamiliar clothes cover his frame. His head is pounding. He tries to take a step, and his legs give out. As he kneels there, struggling to get his bearings, he hears a voice.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long Dad, but those Xadian mushrooms were really hard to find, and—”

The voice breaks.

_“King Harrow?”_

He looks up, willing his eyes to focus. It’s Viren’s daughter, Claudia. Shock is etched on her face. But as he watches, her expression morphs into horror, and then grief. “No,” she breathes, “no, no, _no no no no!”_ She runs to him, grabbing his shoulders roughly, shaking him. “Dad!” Takes his head in her hands, searching his eyes. _“Dad! DAD!”_

“Claudia…”

She jerks back at the sound of his voice. And it _is_ his voice. His dark skin. His coiled hair. He can see and feel it.

“You’re… You’re really… It’s really you, isn’t it.”

Harrow pats his chest. As much to convince himself that it’s true. “Yes, yes I think so.”

Tears overtake Claudia then, great, wracking sobs. She staggers away from him. He watches her collapse against the far wall of…wherever they are—it seems like a cave—and cry out, burying her face in her arms. A part of him wants to go to her. But he’s so weak, and still so dazed. For now, he just rests, on the floor of the cave.

When he wakes, much later, Claudia is staring at him. She looks exhausted, and so, so lost. Again he feels that pang in his heart. What had happened? He suspects he knows the answer.

“Dad told me to go find some mushrooms.”

Her voice is very small. Sad.

“He said he needed those specific ones, and that he knew I could find them for him. He said he knew a way to make things right. He said he’d be okay by himself for a while. He said, ‘Remember you’re my little girl, and I know you can do anything.’ And I said I’d be back soon.”

She stops to swallow, swiping at a tear that falls down her cheek.

“I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have. When I saw the bird, I should have…should have known…”

Harrow’s heart feels like it’s breaking. _What had happened?_

“It’s a transfer spell,” Claudia says, as though she can sense his thoughts. “A really powerful transfer spell. I saw it in one of Dad’s books once. It’s the only time he took a book away from me. You… If you have the essence of something or someone trapped somewhere, but you don’t have anything to put the essence into so it can live again, you can…you can use yourself…but you have to…transform yourself…into the other thing, and it…erases…”

She’s overcome by emotion again.

It hits him too, then. This body… _his_ body…had only hours ago belonged to Viren. This consciousness, that moves his limbs and thinks his thoughts, had only hours ago _been_ _Viren_. The man who had once tried to offer his life in exchange for a fateful decision. His oldest friend. Viren's essence. His very _soul_. Transformed—no, _sacrificed—_ into Harrow’s blood and bones and self.

So he had found a way after all.

“Claudia…”

What can he say? Nothing he can say is enough. Enough for the awe and wonder of simply being alive. Of being able to draw breath, or being able to feel the tears that are now flowing from his eyes.

Enough to encompass the void of guilt that now yawns before him. He is here, and Viren is not.

Viren is gone.

A month passes. And then he feels it.

It’s not words. It’s not anything he can tangibly place. But there’s a sense there, in the back of his mind, that he’s _not alone._

He tries to reach it, but he can’t grasp it. Tries communicating with it, but is met with silence. Tries meditating, even, but it slides away. But it’s _there._ He knows it.

When he’s as sure as he’ll ever be, he tells Claudia.

Her eyes go wide. “But that means—!”

He holds his hands up. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I don’t know what it means. But I know something is there.”

She looks at him then, a long, thoughtful stare. She’s grown so much in just the short time he’s been gone. Keen and bright and _determined._ Just like her father.

“I have an idea,” she says. “But we need to go back to Katolis.”

It feels so strange, to be back in his room in the castle. Sitting in the same chair as he had on the night that was supposed to be his last. Where Viren had come to him, with a proposal he could never accept. He sees everything with different eyes now. Viren had given everything for him. And what had he given in return?

Tonight, if he couldn’t set things completely right, he could at least begin to make amends.

The armor is heavy, but not too much so. It’s a familiar weight. The sword still balances perfectly on his knee. It’s the least he could do, for this moment. To wear his regalia. To show some respect.

There’s a quiet knock, and Claudia slips into the room. There aren’t any guards here anymore. Not since his sons—his _sons_ —had gone journeying through Xadia. He still hasn’t seen them. He’s not sure if he’s ready. But, with the way he came back into this world, even if he were ready, there’s one thing he has to do first.

Claudia has the book in her hand. She drags a small pedestal over from the corner of the room and opens the book to a page of writing he can’t read. Her mouth is set in a determined line. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“This spell requires a sacrifice from you. Do you have what you’ll be offering?”

Harrow nods. He stands, hoisting the sword in his hand, feeling its heft. What sacrifice could possibly be fitting for the occasion? It had to be something personal, Claudia had said. Something that would truly be a sacrifice, and not a momentary inconvenience. He’d thought long on the subject. Viren had been his right hand for so long, his closest advisor. The head to his heart. What magnitude of sacrifice could do him justice?

Not his right hand, of course. He needs that.

If only for practicality’s sake.

He only has one chance to get this right.

He take two quick breaths, then one deep one. With all the power he has, he swings the sword.

The pain is blinding. It shocks him to the core. But he presses on. He reaches for the bandages, the tourniquet. He’d laid it all out ahead of time. He ties it off using his hand and his teeth.

“Hurry,” Claudia says. “Remember, I’ll say the words, but the spell has to channel through you. It’s your sacrifice.”

Harrow breathes through clenched teeth. “Do it.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder and begins to speak.

A crackling fills him, flowing from Claudia into and through him. It feels like stormclouds—thick, charged, sparking with lightning. It tingles and itches and burns. The pain builds, pooling at the base of his arm, flaring into a firestorm that chases back through his body. But he has to focus. He has to do this. He’s the only person alive who knows Viren well enough to do this.

The electric feeling begins to arc, out from his arm to the place where his severed hand lays. Each jolt is more painful than the last, shocking him deeper. But he wills it out anyway, wills everything he knows about Viren, everything he _feels_ about Viren, everything Viren _is,_ into that energy. That part in the back of his mind that is _something,_ something else, some other presence, he pushes into the energy. His lips find the rhythm of Claudia’s chant, and he adds his own voice. The power surges through him even greater. He holds his ground. Thinks of gray eyes, and a soft smile, and a touch as familiar as breathing. Clings to it, even as the power overtakes him, unstoppable now, racing toward its completion.

As darkness clouds his vision, he can only hope it’s enough.

“I have one hand, Harrow.”

“And I don’t?”

“You couldn’t have at least pictured me with two hands?”

“Viren, I don’t think that’s how this works.”

The words are fond. How can they be anything but?

He lies on the bed, propped up on pillows, his cold, weak frame wrapped in one of Harrow’s soft robes. He’s still dizzy. Still dazed. And he _aches._ But he’s alive.

He’s _alive_.

Claudia is gone for the moment, off to fetch a hot beverage and some food. Seeing her face again had broken his heart in the best way. She’d clung to him, and he’d clung to her, and they’d simply held each other, for what felt like forever. When words had finally found him again, he’d asked how it happened. She told him about the growth spell she’d found. How she and Harrow had thought his essence was still inside Harrow somewhere. How Harrow had given his hand for the spell, and together they’d grown Viren a new body.

He would never cease to be awed and humbled by his daughter.

But _Harrow_.

Harrow is here, sitting beside him on the bed. In his armor, he looks just like Viren remembered, the last time he’d seen him. In this very room. His right hand holds Viren’s left. Viren’s left hand, which only moments ago had belonged to Harrow. Transformed completely into Viren’s hand, but nonetheless, once Harrow’s. Was it the same sacrifice he had made? No. But it was a compromise. And it left both of them here. Alive. Together.

“I know that’s not how it works,” Viren says, answering Harrow. “I still know about dark magic. You didn’t scrub that out of me.” There’s a small smile on his lips.

Harrow’s mouth twitches up briefly, chuckling. But then his eyes meet Viren's, and there’s a gravitas there that Viren isn’t prepared for.

“Viren…” Harrow pauses. “When last we spoke, I…said things. About dark magic being a shortcut. About it being the easy way. I…was wrong.”

Viren feels Harrow squeeze his hand tighter.

“I can’t say that I comprehend fully, what you’ve done over the years. But I understand now the _sacrifices_ you’ve made. It isn’t easy, is it?”

Viren squeezes his hand back.

“No, it’s not. I’m… Harrow… Thank you.”

A moment passes between them. An understanding that goes deeper than words. A feeling, gently tugging in the back of his mind. A part of Harrow that will always be with him now, just as a part of himself will always be with Harrow. Remade from each other. Reforged.

The moment passes when Harrow gives his shoulder a playful nudge. “Just don’t go and do anything stupid. I only have one more hand to give.”

“So do _I._ And my plans are never stupid. They’re always meticulously thought-out.”

His tone is indignant, but the smile creeping back onto his lips betrays his true feelings.


End file.
